Turn A New Leaf

When businesses disappear from a neighbourhood like East Chinatown, they are usually replaced by something trendy. So I was pleased to see that the down-to-earth Vital-Life Vegan Rastarant has opened (about 2 years ago) in a former Asian bakery (Fu Jia Le) at Gerrard and Broadview. On Sunday, I combined a trip to a Chinese grocery store (Galaxy Fresh Foods) and also lunch. I usually walk but with a fine mist still coming down and possible post-meal problems, I opted to use the streetcar.

The owner of Vital-Life reminded me of my friend: an older proprietor who had mobility issues. They were still busy in the kitchen while my friend has mostly delegated that work. Looking over the short menu on a chalkboard, I selected the Jerk Bowl ($18). I've always thought that most of what makes an entree are the preparation and cooking method. After all, Jerk is a process not just the spice, according to AF1 Canteen. So the soy tasted like a typical Jerk dish though I won't claim that it was equivalent to an excellent Jerk chicken. 

There were two negatives though. First, it was too salty. I wondered if the chef/owner had diminished taste buds due to age. Second and paradoxically for a vegan spot, it didn't have enough greens. There were only 2 small slices of plantain, the arugula salad was only a few bites, and my meal did not have the avocado listed on the menu. So Vital-Life was similar to regular Caribbean spots in its lack of veggies. Other Jamaican vegan places that I've visited over the years (One Love Vegetarian, Veggie D'Light, V's Caribbean) offered more than just protein. To be fair, their chickpea curry bowl seemed to be more plant-friendly.

Bombs Away

On Thursday, the grim task of work continued. First, there was a poorly done interview on both sides. For their part, they struggled to reply to questions with confidence. There was a small language barrier but it was mostly lack of assurance and experience. But I could sympathize because my co-worker (and new Team Lead) didn't pose the clearest questions. I have encountered this before on both sides with leading questions: there were expected responses and anything else was considered wrong. Right afterwards, I had a live session with the scattershot co-worker where I had to show them everything. I admit I might have initially sped through the explanations but I had assumed a certain level of competency from people collecting a paycheck.

The session ran late so I wasn't able to eat lunch until 1:30 pm. I stopped off at Atomic Burger at Gerrard and Greenwood which replaced vegan shop Jinglepear Deli. With a 50s retro-futurism aesthetic, the inside was swooping curves, round portholes, a plastic fantastic orange palette and a menu with Space Cadet Burgers and (Onion) Rings of Saturn. I got a regular cadet burger ($11.99) and upgraded to a combo (fries and drink for $5.49). The front counter staff agreed with me that a savings of $0.50 (regular fries was $5.99) would have been a big deal 75 years ago.

The burger was simple (sauce, pickles, lettuce, cheese, bun) and delicious. I actually found two patties (at 3 oz each) was too much meat. Next time, a cadet jr ($7.99) should suffice. There was also a lot of nicely salted fries. In fact, a cadet jr combo plus a second jr burger would be cheap and enough for two people.

Earlier in the week, I had planned to grab a slice from Fresca and hear two bands at Dina's Tavern: see what the passage of time has been for By Divine Right (last seen by me in 2014) and Casper Skulls (idealistically young in 2017). But with another full day on Friday, I was less excited to head West for some evening entertainment. I ended up staying home with a dinner of naan and aloo gobi ($17) from Lahore Grill.

I also skipped a concert on Saturday at The Burdock. That did seem like a good show: quintet Parade featured Laura Swankey and Joyshape had frontwoman Zoe Alexis-Abrams. Swankey was interesting and I have never heard Abrams sing. She was a Facebook acquaintance (when I used to be on there) after our paths briefly crossed. In 2014, we were part of a "flash mob" doing backup vocals for Maylee Todd. In any case, it rained all day and into the night. I stayed in and raided the fridge for such odd combination as rice and fries.

House Bound

Tuesday and Wednesday had me talking with more clients. I did not enjoy these interactions. First, I was pulled into a live meeting because customer support needed some detailed explanation. The good thing was that the other side knew what they were doing. The bad thing was that they only know sort of what we were doing. So questions if I didn't explain enough, but dismissal if I talked too much. Then on Wednesday, I attended another 6 a.m. call. People re-calibrate their status quo quickly and I no longer got "kudos" like before.

For Tuesday afternoon, there was another sad interview. They reminded me of myself 15 years ago when I tried to pivot from a niche job to something more general at a hip start-up. It didn't work out for me though my skills exceeded that of the interviewer. But I was too fuddy-duddy for them. This one wasn't quite as adept and despite his young age, has found himself in a career with limited mobility. No doubt he could transfer his skill-set given time but on paper, it was a thumbs down (literally for the interview software I had to use).

This situation became comically ironic on Wednesday. Despite copious notes, my coworker could not accomplish some tasks I passed to them without being hand-held at every step. I recently learned that they earned a certificate in clock-building. It was odd that someone with such a detail-oriented hobby needed to be spoon-fed at work. Yet here they were on the employed side of the unemployment line.

On Tuesday evening, I went to a nearby Chinese take-out spot called Yummy House at Gerrard and Jones. They were definitely OG having been in the neighbourhood for at least 20 years. I got chicken fried rice ($14) which wasn't quite as good a deal as South Pacific. It had that wok hei flavour which improved daily since there was enough for several meals. Since I was so busy with work, the leftovers from Samosa and Chaat and Yummy kept me fed at home. My fortune cookie said to "keep [my] eyes open, and take advantage of the unexpected."

Mosey Monday

There has been a short burst of summer weather over the long week-end. So my morning run on Monday did not require a jacket. This time I headed south to Queen St. and the various side streets. Some of the houses were grand enough for the West End. Though the new builds were obvious (boxy and out-of-place), you can tell which streets have been mostly gentrified. The houses may remain Victorian or Edwardian, but the porches, doors, and windows were new. Another giveaway was the presence of pricier cars like Audi, Mercedes, or BMW parked on the road. Several new condos were breaking ground on Queen.

After breakfast, I cleaned up the sublet. Though it was relatively neat, an apartment with this much stuff will have problem spots. Sure enough, underneath dressers, sinks, and other furniture were months worth of dust and detritus. There were also ant and mouse traps which weren't around my first time here. I hope the strong fragrance of the ripening alphonso mangoes don't attract various critter.

For lunch, I heeded the advice from the man I met at the laundromat and headed to Que Linh. I have been here and was on-the-fence about their pho. But he pointed out that it was their banh cuon (Vietnamese rice rolls) that was their specialty. I ordered the large ($11.06) and he was right. With someone in the kitchen rolling out the thin, crepe-like rolls made from rice flour, these were soft and semi-translucent. But given how cheap the ingredients were, it was still a bit dear to pay out $15 (tax + tip), more than double what it cost in 2014.

This also gave me a chance to check out East Chinatown as I've only been back to buy fancy chocolate. The small grocery stores still had foot traffic but it looked like only those restaurants catering to the gentrified set (Dine & Dim - a dim sum spot, Issho - bakery and cafe) were full.

City Slackers

Early Sunday morning, I did one of the joys (for me) of big city living: going to the local laundromat. Oscar's was clean during my first stay and it hasn't changed except for the cost ($6.50 for a small load and 32 minutes of drying). It was full of older, Asian folks which was a reminder than Chinatown East and its residents once extended from Broadview to Greenwood. I was surprised at the crowd until I noticed a hand-written sign with a 5:30 opening time, much earlier than the 7 a.m. info provided by Google. That's great news for next time.

Not being the only one doing laundry meant that I did interact with some people. An older man spoke to me in our mother tongue. It turned out he has lived in this area for more than 40 years and he dropped some lore: Asian businesses once existed as far as Coxwell. It was only later that South Asian stores arrived to create Little India. If true, then Chinatown East was almost twice as long as the main one on Spadina. Nowadays, it and Little India have shrunk dramatically and losing out to gentrification.

When I heard he still had kids in university, I switched from the "uncle" honorific to "brother". He flattered me by claiming with a straight face that I looked no more than 35. He sympathized at being treated as an elder but asserted that I was still young enough to get married. As for himself, a work accident two years ago has him considering retirement. He was currently on WSIB after surgery and physical therapy. But with a pension after 40 years with car parts manufacturer Magna, it was time to call it a day.

Around lunchtime, I went back out to visit one of the last remaining Chinese take-out looking for a deal like South Pacific. But Yummy House was closed on Sunday. The hip restaurants were opened but in spite of gentrification, the only business that wasn't empty was local coffee shop Dineen. Perhaps everyone who hadn't left for cottage country was at the Leslieville Farmer's Market in Greenwood Park. There was an extensive number of vendors, far more than the one at Dufferin Grove or even Trinity Bellwoods. I wondered about the turnover rate though because despite being packed, only the food sellers had any traffic. Most everyone else (organic farms, artisanal products from dips to oil to wine, and so on) just stood around.

I didn't buy anything there but I did get byriani rice ($10) from Samosa and Chaat. Later on, I went to Kohinoor Foods to get a case of Alphonso mangos ($50) from India. This was 2.5 times the price of your typical Mexican mango but then I haven't had them since before the pandemic. Last time at this sublet, I had left just before mango season so couldn't procure some for my grandmother and my mom.

Quiet on the Eastern Front

It was nippy early on Saturday but donning a light jacket was sufficient for my early morning jog. Several things made outdoor runs more enjoyable in Toronto: less cars even on a thoroughfare like Gerrard and they travelled at lower speed; variety of visual changes from small buildings and storefronts on main streets and eclectic homes on side ones; woodpecker hammering away at an electrical pole (don't insects infest only living trees?) along a trail that ran alongside the train tracks; McDonald's delivery sitting untouched in front of Left Field Brewery on Wagstaff Dr (a gentrified alleyway) - order time of 1:47 am meant that this was either the wrong address or someone didn't wait.

For lunch, I ventured to Huy Ky for a bao ($3.50) and a banh mi ($6.00). Again, deviating from my usual vegetarian order resulted in a slightly disappointing meal. Two things this time: the cha ca (a Vietnamese fish-cake) lacked dill that usually gives it a strong, distinctive flavour. Second, since the patty was stored in the fridge and had to be microwaved, that made it too stringy. Fresh from a deep-fryer would have been ideal.

I had several plans for the evening. I would go to Fresca for the best pizza slice in the city. Then it was around the corner to Dina's Tavern for 2 acts. Headliner Paste channeled 90s alt-rock and was releasing a 4-song EP. To be honest, that seemed underwhelming to have only 1 recording in the 4 years since they graduated "Class of 2022". Megan Aversa (Velvet Beach) was also part this band but she wasn't the lead singer. Math-rock quintet High Tea sounded more interesting. Lately, microtonal duo Angine de Poitrine went viral on Youtube and was now selling out shows. So an evening listening to some cerebral wankery might yield some gems.

But I ended up staying in. The distance from the East End to more happening downtown or West End areas discourage travel. Also, somehow the quieter vibe (the streets were mostly empty all day) sink into your psyche and you turn into a homebody. I will have to resist this urge while I am at this sublet.

Survivor: Late Stage Edition

In the last few weeks, my workload wasn't just never-ending deadline but also interviews. A single job posting for my team yielded 800 applications. The ability to work remotely might have opened it up to all of North America but it was also indicative of the current work market. It was depressing interviewing people who were mostly in the same boat: laid off and looking for work since January. Superficially, they were all qualified and perhaps even more so than me and especially my co-workers. Also, I have only seen a fraction of the applications so I don't even know what automated gauntlet rejected the rest.

Speaking of trial by fire, a co-worker has been promoted to Team Lead. They did so on an informal basis for about a month last year but couldn't quite hack it. So we got a new manager hire who lasted all of 2 months. A few interviews for a replacement didn't go anywhere so now they had a second kick at the can. I don't know the amount of salary bump, but they were now in meetings until lunch before doing any "real work". It was sink or swim this time round since the company announcement has gone out.

So I wasn't surprised to find out on Friday that they had worked late into the previous evening hammering out a quick and dirty solution for a customer. I spent the morning helping them test before the client meeting. I also sympathized silently during our own meeting since the dysfunctional team dynamics hasn't changed since last year.

For dinner, I visited the 3rd best "pie slinger" in the city: Pizza Pide. I ordered the assorted ($16.49) and watched the passer-bys while waiting for my meal. I overheard the proprietor talking to a customer and got some history. Pide hadn't changed owner like I thought because the current one took over from their uncle about 10 years ago. The business was 30 years old so it was middle-aged when I first visited. I didn't love my selection this time round though a meat-lover might have enjoyed the variety: ground beef, chicken, lamb, and Turkish sausage. I liked the two ends best with spinach and especially the sharp feta cheese. The bland mozzarella that was used for the rest of the pide didn't compare. So I will stick to my usual veggie order.

A Few Doors Down

There seemed to be no end to work madness since March. I wanted to pull the plug on the whole thing because by any standard, my nest egg should be sufficient even with early retirement. On the other hand, the second half of my retention bonus arrived last week. But this lucre was pro-rated so it would be clawed back if I leave before next May.

For lunch, I wanted some adobo chicken from Teako. I was surprised that the servers weren't the owners but even more so to find out they only served tea now. They had stopped making food, at least until the summer (supposedly), because business was slow. This did not bode well for the store. So I made my way to the Greenwood intersection for Gerrard Sushi. Unlike ibet Sushi (or its spiritual ancestor Mazz Sushi), they did not play easy-listening jazz but pop. Specifically, smooth covers of songs both old (REM's Losing My Religion) and new (Olivia Dean's So Easy To Fall In Love). I was on the fence about their sushi lunch ($15.95). Good: the fish wasn't bland like Hana Sushi. Bad: the nigiri was on the small size but more egregiously, the nori for the salmon maki was tough to chew. I have never had subpar seaweed until now.

After work, I went to Coxwell because Food Basics did not cover all the basics. Little India looked a little run-down with numerous empty storefronts and development signs. This was a neighbourhood either in decline or about to undergo rapid gentrification. Some businesses had just moved to smaller digs: Udupi Palace was now at Regency Restaurant, The Famous Indian Cuisine moved across the street to replace Karma's Kitchen. But stalwarts like New Family Diner were permanently closed. The Dollarama and No Frills at Coxwell had larger selection, though the latter did not compare to the location at Dufferin Mall, and I was able to finish off my household checklist.

Circle The Square

I volunteered to attend a 6 am meeting on Wednesday since our clients was 12 hours away on the other side of the world. As an early riser, it was no actual hardship. But if management thought it was a great sacrifice, I won't complain much. It was the second of two meetings where the first one was handled by my colleagues in Europe.

But they were twiddling their thumbs and so did I when I joined. With the vagaries of modern technology, our customer was unable to download our latest product. Eventually an ad-hoc solution was found but by then, we were out of time. There was a tense debrief a few hours later with the bigwigs where blame was mostly deflected onto our clientele's IT department.

This wasn't the only critical update so I was busy until lunch. I snuck out for more Indian food, this time at Samosa and Chaat across from Lahore Grill. I received an enormous container of chicken byriani ($10) with enough rice for 2 meals. The chicken was good but not great since they had to reheat everything. I find that chicken, more than other meat, had an unpleasant odor and taste when microwaved. In this case, it was acceptable because of the tasty spices.

After work, I went to Food Basics at Gerrard Mall. Its selection wasn't as good as No Frills but the latter has been bulldozed for a new subway station currently under construction. There were maybe 2 business turnovers in the neighbourhood since I have been through here last year.

My kitchen at the back of the house looked out at a duplex on triplex that loomed over it from a hill. I finally tried to find its entryway. One street over from my place there was a small side lane that led to a some hidden semi-detached homes. Beyond them was a small foot path that finally led to the triplex. But it was boarded up and currently abandoned. I guess some developers had kicked out the residents but haven't gone ahead with any reno. Given its odd location, it was hard to see what they could build (at least for maximum profit).

Sheet Used To Be Mine

When I needed some space from the chattering mob, an old sublet came up. But the 6-week lease would also save me from the jacked up hotel prices in June due to the FIFA World Cup. I arrived at my new domicile in Toronto on a bright Tuesday afternoon. There was no chance for a breather though because of a customer deadline, I needed to juggle several balls on the bus trip from Ottawa. Then immediately after I unpacked, it was more work.

I finally got my dinner break and headed to Lahore Grill. The fresh naan ($3) and the daily vegetable ($14) were wonderful. But even for Lahore, the okra was soaked in oil. So good on the palate but so bad for the arteries. The upside was that there was plenty of leftover for lunch.

Later on in the evening, I wandered around the apartment to see what has changed in the 4 years since I rented the unit. The owner was a triple-threat musical theatre actor so there were plenty of mementos from shows and trips. I recalled most of them, so it was like stepping into the past. The ceramic ducks with rain boots on the living room table were new. They must have also picked up some additional hobbies as several new watercolour paintings dotted the apartment. A new microwave and toaster were found in the kitchen. But the collection of photos on the fridge was gone. Perhaps they disappeared after the end of a relationship (of which there were vague hints on social media about a year after my stay). From the welcome letter, which mentioned other tenants for mail pickup, it seemed that the basement renter was still around. But the long-time resident on the first floor, along with his British room-mate, have both left. A new couple (a singer-songwriter and a theatre artist) now occupied the ground unit.

In the bedroom, there were some surprising old items. The comforter, pillowcases, and bed linen belonged to me; I had left them behind, freshly cleaned and re-packed. I didn't expect that the owner would keep them since they were cheap polyester products from Walmart. How could I be sure? I had brought one flat sheet back with me to Ottawa. It was stowed away for 4 years until I took it out for my recent sublet in January.

For this return, I also included that flat sheet in my luggage and its pattern matched exactly. Interestingly, all items were in new condition. Mine was obviously because I haven't used it in years. I suspected that theirs was because they only brought it out for the occasional subletter when the good bedding was stowed away. Waste not, want not. But it was an odd feeling to lay down on a "familiar" bedspread, like an adult visiting his childhood home.

Silence Is Golden

Research shows that chronically alone people have long-term health problems. But one advantage of my 3-month sublet was only occasionally talking to people. Because whenever I do, people usually opine unsavoury opinions. It could be that I am of the "intolerant left" as declared by those of a rightward bent. I am not a true leftist though because I don't care to fix society or make people see the light; apres moi and all that.

For example, during a company meet-and-greet in March, I found out that a co-worker held punitive and carceral views when it comes to unhoused folks and drug users. As they also lead annual missionary trips to "3rd-world countries", it didn't surprise me. There's no hate like Christian love, as the kids say. My annoyance surfaced over my typical politeness until we moved to less fraught topics.

It happened twice in one week since my return to Ottawa. On Easter Sunday last week, my sibling hosted a lunch with a big East-meets-West spread. Lately, our lunches have been smaller due to sick or unavailable relatives. When our chat turned to the current state of the world, my judgmental aunt and the "labourer" wife of my uncle both saw through the buffoonery of the Orange-In-Chief. But my mom kept repeating like an wind-up robot: "I am pro-Orange". This was the first time she had spoken out-loud what I have been suspecting for some time. How did someone, proud of her education and cosmopolitanism, and with no access to right-wing media got this way? Sadly, she watches endless videos of people of her generation who have nostalgic memories of our European colonizers, exaggerated views of the accomplishments of the ancien regime, and an abiding hatred of those "evil Reds". This means that these elders also align themselves with those here whose worldview also hearkened to an imaginary golden past and nothing but grievances for the present. The irony was that the supremacists' ideal society would not include her cohort even if they had carried water for them.

Meanwhile, my sibling was worried about their next-door neighbour. First, the house was foreclosed. Then the owners were seen back in the house. Were they illegal squatters? This led them and my cousins to recount anecdotes and hearsay from "a friend of a friend" that showed that landlords were the real victims in real estate. I was so tired of it all I went and sat by myself for a while. So on Friday, I decided to finally reply to a post on Craigslist about a sublet. It was the same apartment I stayed at back in 2022. Next month, I will once again have several weeks of quiet solo living.

On Saturday, I met up with a friend for lunch at Decca Delight. We both had vague memories that this place used to be another restaurant. I then recalled that I had wandered in here looking for Korean corn dogs at Seoul Dog until I saw the bar. Asian street food in an English-style pub seemed out of place. Decca offered mostly Indian dishes but also a handful of Hakka (Indian-Chinese) dishes. Our lunch consisted of Gobi Manchurian ($15.99), Malai Kofta ($15.99), Vijayawada Byriani ($17.99) and naan ($3.49). The portions were large, tasty, but a bit on the salty side.

The same could be said of our conversation. We touched on raising teenagers (them), work travails (us), and relaxation (I went to Toronto, they vacationed in Mexico and Spain). I talked about mutual friends who were considering retirement. I felt that they were unjustified in their worries because their government pension outclassed most Canadians' modest fixed income. They declared "not my problem" with the average Joe's precarity. Then came statements about the obsolescence of unions and lazy subordinates. We bid goodbye until the next time.

April Shower

I thought there would be some outings for the last 2 days of my sublet but with work deadlines I ended up staying inside. Though my own part was done, I needed to be "on standby" for others. I spent Monday afternoon cleaning up the loft; I keep my living spaces clean so this was just the usual chore. In the evening, there were two possibilities. First, I could go to a record store show at Sonic Boom for Lia Pappas-Kemps for her new album Winged. It has been more than a decade since I went there, or rather their old location on Bloor, for an in-store performance. The bonus was that Sonic Boom was only a few streetcar stops from Fresca so I could get a final Toronto-style slice of pizza. Second, I could have dinner with an ex-coworker that I haven't seen in a decade, but only talked to on the phone. I wasn't keen on the second option since they had several weeks to plan something instead of this late ask. I ended up doing neither because I was tasked at 5 pm to fix someone else's last-minute screw-up.

There was more cleaning on Tuesday though I was determined to get back my after-hours labour. I lounged around until I went out for lunch. The OG proprietor of 241 Pizza was there so I finally pulled the trigger on my final panzerotti. The cashier mistakenly charged me $13.99 for an $11.99 special but let us treat that as a tip (though my anal side dislike screw-ups). Also, the combination of chewy crust and gooey cheese was sufficient compensation for an error. Continuous rain meant no final show in the evening.

Wednesday morning, I decided to forgo a dry breakfast of toast because Progress Bakery was opened at 5:30 a.m. When I went inside, unlike this wonderful boulangerie that also opened early, most the shelves here have not yet been stocked. I suspected the ham and cheese croissant ($5.25) was from the previous day. The first few bites did not pass muster but things got better after 30 seconds in the microwave. I said goodbye to the plants; it was too bad I won't see the bloom. My friend will likely chopped off its stalk when they drop by.

The other half of the croissant made an acceptable meal on the bus. This was the first time I did not buy lunch at my Kingston break. Mr. Sub has palled lately and Fat Bastard Burrito was still on my time-out list. I was back in Ottawa a bit early but the transit ride home took an hour for a 6-7 minute car trip. Ah, the unreliable OC Transpo, how I do not miss thee.

Thursday I walked to the local strip mall to restock some fridge items and cleaning supplies. Speaking of which, with the snow melting away, winter detritus and litter was revealed in their glory. I still can't get over how dirty Ottawa is compared to Toronto. Combined that with the high volume of afternoon traffic and my trip was grimmer than grocery runs in The Big Smoke. For the holiday Friday and also Saturday morning, I did yet more cleaning. I wasn't sure how these jobs require more elbow grease because it has only been 2.5 weeks since my last trip back. With no plans to go out, the rest of the long week-end was catching up on shows from streaming services.

Lamb Shank Redemption

On Sunday, my ability to get a final meal from Chef Saha at BHK Roll hit several snags. I first headed there for lunch but the subway was out-of-commission again. Another subway signal upgrade from Jane to Ossington would not have affected me. But when I got to the station, a train with stuck doors at Ossington itself had extended the shutdown to all stations. I spent 10 minutes waiting for a bus to take me to Wellesley station. This alternate route would leave me 1 stop from my destination.

But since it didn't arrive promptly, I stayed in the neighbourhood and went to Hana Sushi instead. I sat between some elderly folks: one was having lunch with her daughter and grandkids, the other was a couple of old friends going to see "talkies" (i.e., classic movies) at The Paradise. It was interesting to watch people who were not exposed to non-mainstream cuisine during their early adulthood. The grandma had never even tried edomame. It wasn't surprising that they all ordered bento boxes; tempura pieces and chicken teriyaki were familiar enough to other food to not be scary. My own sushi combo ($18) included 8 nigiri pieces and california rolls. I previously liked the veggie combo but forgot from my first visit that the fish were rather bland here. Or maybe like my grandma, my taste buds have dulled as I've gotten older.

For dinner, I tried the subway again. It was slower than usual since the trains had to unload passengers at Ossington and then reverse to head back the other way. When I got to BHK Roll, there were 2 minor problems. First, their internet was out so it was cash or e-transfer. Second, the roti option wasn't available tonight. I chose the Gosht Nizami ($24) and got 2 more surprises. The basmati rice was actually biriyani and the lamb was still on the bone. The meal was quite rich and tasty but the meat, while tender, was gamier than last time. Also, using food-court utensils to cut the meat, and with the whole thing inside a cardboard take-out container, was an exercise in "move very slowly and carefully".

Chimerical

On Saturday, I found conclusive proof that the unhoused person who owned the shopping carts was still around. During the day, I went to the library at Gladstone to look at some newspaper. I was, once again, almost certain that a woman sleeping inside was her. Unlike the male indigents in the neighbourhood, she kept her hair clean and her clothes neat. So there were no obvious markers of homelessness. In the late evening, the shopping carts were finally moved. They were blocking the doorway to a store, providing some measure of privacy, while she laid in a sleeping bag behind them. But it did mean that throughout the winter months, when the carts were stuck in a snowdrift, she wasn't using them.

Lunch was a mixture of veggies from No Frills, fried rice from South Pacific, spicy potatoes (they were correctly described as shredded potato, but stir-fried and then cool down) from Szechuan Noodle Bowl, and a cinnamon donut from Better Days. On my way to the library, I had seen some runners finished off their run by visiting the shop. Bloor had even more runners, though not quite in the obnoxious packs I have seen in online videos.

At night I visited The Burdock, a venue I haven't gone to during my sublet. Doors at 8:30 pm suggested a late show, but the first band started promptly at 9 pm. Bitchstick's members were definitely young, if not high-school teenagers, then not far from it. Or maybe everybody under 30 look like babies to me now. Their fans were split between equally young friends and some family members. I didn't mind as much as other "family shows" because one, they were just starting their musical career, and two, they played music that sounded fresh and contemporary.

I came because my online curiosity was pique by the band called Monstrosa. They turned out to be primarily women except for the drummer. The members wore various masks: Lucha Libra, Halloween demon mask, and a welding mask brightly painted and decorated with plastic monster fangs. Meanwhile, front-woman Lauren Pryce and her back-up singer were glammed up with glittery make-up and clubby clothes.

I have opined about liking danceable music. It seems I also like songs with furious drumming, chugging chords, and riff-heavy runs (oh, so many riffs). It was wall-to-wall bangers including a rocking cover of Blondie's Call Me. Debbie Harry was an inspiration because she didn't achieve success until she was 30. This was a good reminder for Pryce as a counteract to a youth-obsessed scene (Olivia Rodrigo, Billie Eilish). Well, I hoped that Monstrosa get some traction because to be both lead singer and guitarist, Pryce had the musical chops. The rest of the band was equally energetic. If Arenas played a $30 set for a $20 show on Friday, Monstrosa gave us a $40 act for $10 cover. It was too bad there was no merch for sale.

I was feeling the effects of late nights (for me) and stressful days. So I headed back home instead of staying for another rock band going by the moniker of Nameless Friends.

A-fun-cular

When I missed lunch by 2.5 hours because of a work meeting, I wasn't going to let it happen again on Friday. So I took advantage of the sunshine to head to No Frills at noon for a few basic items like fruit and oat milk to tie me over until my departure. I stopped by Szechuan Noodle Bowl to try more of their non-noodle dishes. This time it was cumin-spiced cauliflower ($15.49) and hot-and-sour shredded potatoes ($9.49). The portion sizes were huge and even two people could not finish them. Both dishes were delicious though I wonder if there was an error in translation. The potatoes tasted like some sort of raw root vegetable. Either that or they have perfected a way to prepare crunchy raw taters. When the waiter helped me collect the leftovers into take-out containers (more than enough for 3 more meals), they mentioned that I was like an older relative to them. Oof! It's still hard to contemplate that I was an elder to the younger generation.

Later on that evening, I was in a sea of baby-faces at the Baby G. Surprisingly, I wasn't the oldest as I recognized a few die-hards who still went to indie shows despite the white hair and wrinkles. I was mostly there for Tange, whom the follow-up Little Junior joked lovingly as a "Toronto legend". Certainly they were the most successful, not the trio itself, but the career of the individual members: Deanna Petcoff, Sabrina Carrizo Sztainbok, and Luna Li. Sadly, the latter was not present tonight and Tange had a substitute drummer. Perhaps she had other commitments or now that she can fill Danforth Music Hall, Li no longer wanted to play dinky venues per her Mod Club show reminiscences.

Being more or less a side project, Tange has only put out a handful of songs in 10 years. But tonight we were treated to several new numbers. They had a cool vibe and combined elements of pop (without sounding dated) with atmospheric garage. The songs were fun and approached well-worn tropes in a novel way: a song about relationship commitment meant getting the smartphone password. Deanna and Sabrina's vocals blended well, were usually understated, but sometimes were let loosed with Evanescence-esque power.

The fun continued with Little Junior. They were an energetic four piece, somewhere between Weezer and Green Day. I couldn't quite sussed what they were singing about through my earplugs, but the music was catchy and dance-able. I was going to duck out but gave headliner Arenas a chance at a few songs. The drummer/singer quipped that they wanted to give a $30 performance for a $20 show. They delivered on that promise and I ended up staying for their entire set. It was as if early David Byrne met a muscular psych rock outfit: slinky bass, propulsive drums, and odd chords and riffs.

Winding Down

The last few days felt like a redux of my final weeks in Toronto back in 2021. But this time, I kept it local to just my neighbourhood. On Tuesday, I made an effort to look for the owner of the abandoned shopping carts. It's hard to recognize someone who, to be honest, was in the background as you walk by over the years. But I was 90 percent sure that the woman sleeping in the lobby of a bank was her. I originally wanted another "calzone" from 241 Pizza for dinner, but the main proprietor wasn't working. Sure enough, my go-to option the veggie slice ($5.50) wasn't quite as good as usual.

Still feeling peckish, I walked East looking for dessert but bakeries have closed at 5. I stepped inside Banquet Burger at Delaware and ordered regular fries ($4.99).  The fries came in a larger portion than a fast-food joint and satisfied my carb craving. At first, I thought it was a replacement of a previous burger joint (that my friend and I visited once) which was itself a follow-up to Fancy Franks. But it was simply a signage change and a menu switch from regular to smash burgers. Still, I hate when a property becomes a restaurant because it will never be another business again. Restaurant rows, like the Ossington Strip, were the worse sort of gentrification despite their lively night-time vibe.

On Wednesday, I was back at Delaware for a veggie plate ($14.99) from Laziza. I usually have these to go, but with the craziness from work, I needed to take a mid-day break outside of my sublet. I recognized my server who was the sort that didn't overfill my container. But he gave everyone a small lentil soup which was a nice, warming side. I can't complain too much since there was still enough left-over for lunch the next day.

In fact, I was inside all of Thursday. My boss, stressing about the upcoming deadline, kept me in a meeting that lasted from 11:30 am until 2:30 pm. The sunshine became a continuous drizzle well into the evening. My final dinner from South Pacific was both a mistake and completely appropriate. I thought I was getting a combo with mixed veggies with shrimp and fried rice. It turned out to be all fried batter: spring rolls, sweet and sour chicken balls, and also sweet and sour shrimp. It was the quintessential "take-out food" and quite addictive. So I made an effort to leave most of the fried rice for another day.

Tragedy Plus Time

I haven't been to Comedy Bar in 6 years though I was a frequent visitor when they first opened. On Monday night, I dropped by for an 8 pm show in the smaller cabaret room. The venue was relatively empty but was packed for the later shows. Mine was a Just For Laughs showcase: ostensibly each comic had 6 minutes for their best material. The prize: possible inclusion in the real festival but I wasn't convinced there were any actual judges in the crowd. The downside: 10 performers in about 80 minutes. The upside: if you don't like some material or if they weren't connecting, another would be on soon.

Almost half the comics were POCs so there were plenty of "we're like this, they're like that" jokes. Most didn't work for me except for the two Black comedians. One riffed on dating the "wrong kind" of white man (Ivan not Evan) but still getting some privilege (living for free in his parent's spare house). The other related the travails of having a philandering Jamaican dad and opening for R'n'B act dvsn. The final comic also got huge laughs for his Chinese-related jokes. Asians will eat anything was a little too close to a stereotype. But his extended riff on Chinese New Year being a "bullshit holiday" because every Zodiac animal had to "work hard" was gold.

The other comedians mined their own shortcomings. One detailed his hair transplant (via Turkey) experience and being a tourist queer (i.e., "gay when high"). Another talked about being vanilla sexually in a world of people with exciting kinks (turns out he wasn't that vanilla). One stand-up quipped that a comedy show was the ideal date because you look good compared to all the losers on stage. Certainly, several performers turned their personal or family trauma into punchlines.

I'm more of a smiler and the Netflix shows I've watched haven't generated much physical reaction from me. So I was concerned when the stagehand gave me a table at the front (the perils of showing up early). But I was surprised that I was in stitches and laughing out loud several times.

Memento Mori

Memorials to someone's passing are found, temporarily or otherwise, throughout my old neighbourhood. Dufferin Grove contains trees planted with dedications to loved one and an entire walking path (for a bicycle accident victim) dotted with reflexology stones. More sadly, a ghost bike also commemorated another bicycle victim who was hit by a truck. The local community also wrote a tribute when Mr. Siddiqi of Vena's Roti died over the Holidays. During my sublet, a long-time Portuguese Bar (Bloor Bar Cafe/Billiard) was closed because the owner passed away at a young 62. His family kept a photo and an obituary in the window.

On Sunday, when I went to the library at Dufferin and Bloor, I was reminded that not all memorials come from the living. Unfortunately, some are the forgotten relics of a quiet life. There have been numerous unhouse folks in the neighbour over the years. Some come and go such as the homeless encampments or visitors to the women's shelter Sistering. Others stay around for years like the old panhandler who wished everyone a happy life.

There was a woman, in her late 50s or early 60s, who hung around that corner. She never asked for change or talked very much. She did accumulate thing over the years until it grew to 2 shopping carts full of stuff. But they were neatly packed and tied down with plastic tarps. After my arrival in early January, when I saw them alone on the sidewalk, I was worried. But I thought (half-heartedly) that, with the snow and ice frozen solid around the carts, she was still nearby and that it was more convenient to leave them there. After all, many people left their parked cars buried in the snow for weeks this winter.

But the snow has finally melted for good for several days. So when I saw that the carts haven't moved, I felt sad. I'm hoping she is somewhere safer, perhaps living in a permanent home, and had already taken personal items with her. But those carts may be the last reminder of someone who left this world unnoticed and unmourned.

29/03/2026: I was being a bit melodramatic because the owner was still hanging around the neighbourhood. It wasn't great that she lived on the streets but at least things haven't worsened.

No One Is Watching

On Saturday, I headed back to Geary for Gaucho Pies as it has been awhile. One problem was that the store was opened only 3 days a week for retail, the rest of the time they made empanadas to sell wholesale. They now have a store-front so I no longer had to walk down an industrial hallway. I selected spinach/ricotta ($4) and roasted mushroom ($4). There was no place to eat outside because the planters and benches near Knockout Ice Cream were gone and apparently, so has Knockout. It was now Good Behaviour, a custard ice cream and submarine sandwich shop. But it was less than 5 minutes back to my sublet. The empanadas were still warm and packed with flavour. The only downside: they were on the small side which wasn't so bad when they only cost $2.75.

I spent the afternoon watching shows on Amazon Prime. Though I leave the apartment more than back in Ottawa, after the last few days of cloudy skies, you don't want to go anywhere. Since I couldn't get my thali dinner on Friday, I walked to Lansdowne to get some from Dosa Mahal. As I approached the intersection, I noticed a long line across the street. Was it Record Store Day and people were waiting to get in Dead Dog Records? Nope, they were putting their names on a waitlist for either Sugo or its offshoot "Bar Sugo" (once The Emerson and Caribbean Queen's original spot). At a corner, two young women expressed dismay that people from other parts of Toronto were ruining their local spot because of trendiness. I chuckled to myself that gentrifiers were complaining about other gentrifiers, especially over such a mediocre joint. But Sugo has been here for almost 10 years now, in another decade it will be considered an OG.

The vegan thali ($14.99) was essentially Mahal's tiffin box (2 curries + rice) with an additional curry, 2 soups (daal and sambar), a small naan, and a few sides (papadam, pickles, chutney or yogurt). Was it worth the extra $4? Sort of. The soups were the best upgrade: rich and flavourful. The curries here have always been good but not great. The naan was tasty enough but lacked the fragrance and chew of a tandoori-baked one. It was a good, filling meal (with masala chai for $2.50) but a couple of bucks off would be ideal.

After walking for about a block, I decided to take transit ($3.20) back home. It was only 2 subway stops and a quick ride by bus. But I felt that given the longer walking distance and my intestinal sensations, it wasn't a leisurely stroll kind of evening. I was probably right as I felt gassy all night and the next morning's bathroom visit was fuller than usual.

This bloating also prevented my first ever visit to Dovercourt House. With two left feet, I never went inside this venerable building bustling with dance classes and late-night dancing. But there was a special event on Saturday: a showing of Tango Malhar. This new South Asian film a la Shall We Dance? starred a poor rickshaw driver instead of an older Japanese salaryman. Then after a professional demonstration, there would follow several hours of milonga or impromptu partner dances. The film and showcase seemed up my alley and maybe I would even watch the dancing for a bit. But it wasn't just about my questionable innards tonight; I was afraid that I might need nice clothes and dress shoes. And the more I dug into the sponsor of the event, the more it seemed like a vanity show.

Happy To See Me Emoji

On Friday my boss threatened that we might have to work on the week-end. Some people had actually put in extra hour on Thursday's night when I was at the Lula Lounge for a show. Ultimatums don't work on me at my age but I did have a quick lunch with leftovers from South Pacific. In the afternoon, my friend dropped by not so much for a visit but to exchange pots. Their partner had installed a new induction stove-top at their house and their cookware didn't work. Luckily, the ones here were magnetic and were compatible. I pointed a few problems I noticed: mold in the washer (I use the laundromat next door) and some minor water issue at the back of the loft. But they already knew of these issues. The succulent by the front door, which had sprouted a long stem, wasn't thriving more than usual due to my careful watering. In fact, it pushed out this flower stalk every spring; my friend usually just lopped it off.

I finally found time in the early evening to re-stock the fridge for my final week at my sublet. Recalling that the excellent Chakna offered thali options for around $15, I dropped by the street-food spot. But these dishes were unavailable because either they weren't offered during busy hours or never as dine-in items (there was some communication issues). So I crossed to the other side for Szechuan Noodle Bowl.

Last time I was here, I grew tired of noodles by the end of my meal as I had eaten them on different visits. Some other diners chose non-noodle dishes but I was reluctant as they were more expensive and clearly meant to be shared family-style. This time I opted for braised eggplant ($14.49), enoki mushroom with chili ($8.99), and rice ($2.50). Both dishes were excellent: the eggplant was flavourful and tender. I'm sure each slice was soaked in oil but they didn't have that overly rich mouth-feel. Note that like dishes for numerous Chinese restaurants, its' seemingly vegetarian-friendly description omitted the ground pork in the sauce. The mushroom, as a cold dish, had a surprisingly toothsome chew. The only misstep was the rice: clumpy and almost too dry. Unlike the semi-regular I had seen from before, I took all the leftovers home.

Smooth Groove

I was in Ottawa for a few days from Saturday onward. With its freezing rain and fresh snow, it was still a winter wonderland. But that came at the cost of the LRT out of commission again so it was a trek getting home via bus. I was happy to stay inside to continue with the fire-fighting at work. Back in Toronto on Thursday, I decided to attend a show at the Wavelength festival. It was going to be noisy at St. Anne's Parish so I selected Lula Lounge, an odd location for the indie organization. The evening turned out to be on the more easy listening end of the scene.

Lula occasionally turns into a proper concert venue, but it was usually a supper club, and that was the case for this show. The good: a big venue with good sound and lighting. The bad: nobody was up near the stage, you were either sitting down at the tables or standing awkwardly at the back. I usually avoid these venues (The Rex, etc.) because you have to pay extra (in the form of food) for a table. But if I had known that for this show you could buy a ticket or just get a table, I would have put the $34.75 toward a meal and gotten a free concert.

P.S. Lucas came from Portugal (Wavelength's attempt this year to go non-local) and his playing was an updated version of a traditional style. But I don't know much Portuguese music other than fado so his shimmering picking reminded me of Spanish guitar like flamenco. He sang in English and Portuguese (though unlikely many in the audience were locals in what was once Little Portugal). The lyrics were poetic and sometimes took inspiration from Portuguese idioms. The song In Between was inspired by entre a espada e a parede (between the sword and the wall). I enjoyed the short set with his skillful guitar playing.

In fact, a nice surprise tonight were both shorter sets and quicker set-ups. I was worried that, with 4 bands on the bill, the evening was going to drag out. Daniel Colussi (Fortunato Durutti Marinetti) played the most appropriate music for the venue. It was catchy but very Copa Cabana. Still, his David Byrne style and interesting songs (Coke vs. Pepsi, The Bulldozer) was Blimp Rock redux and the romantic Hold On To The Dawn had the earnestness of Luka.

Dan English was an Iowan by way of Brooklyn. His set was a less languid Lana del Rey full of yearning. As it was his first show in Canada, Caitlin Woelfle-O'brien hooked him up with 2 local musicians. The trio played a nice set of contemplative art-rock. It was also English's first time in a supper club, but some joined in on his cover of Perfect Day (Lou Reed). Two fans even came up to chit-chat afterwards.

Tara Kannagara was ostensibly the head-liner. But by this time, the venue was mostly empty with the departure of the dinner crowd. Like all the performers tonight, she was mostly showcasing new material. So Kannagara was just happy to play live music with her band. The new songs seemed like a departure from her current output of indie with a splash of "prog jazz". They were Laufey-esque balladry meet R'n'B influenced synth-pop: head-bopping beats, wobbly synth, and pure vocals soaring over it all. There were some outstanding gems in the new stuff.

Wuthering Heights

Having met our deadline, our boss gave the go-ahead to take advantage of our new company's policy and take the 2nd Friday of each month off. Since I was going on a short trip back to Ottawa, I did my laundry in the early morning instead of waiting until Sunday. The forecast called for a final winter blast and it arrived around 11 am. As I returned from Progress Bakery with cod patties for lunch, I ran into my neighbour diligently clearing out the wet snow. A quick conversation revealed that he lived in the Yonge and Finch area. No one was living in his units yet because the building was in bad-shape when he bought it 3 years ago.

In the evening, I went to 241 pizza not for my usual slice but to order a 3-topping panzerotti. The price has increased to $11.99 from about $7 a while back. The panzerotti was a corporate branding because they didn't deep-fry it like the real one; this was closer to a calzone. Nevertheless, I've enjoyed it over the years and tonight's combination of baked dough, gooey cheese, olives, hot pepper, and pineapple still hit the spot.

Looking for an activity to do, I came across a concert at Lee's Palace. I recalled from a few days ago that on non-quite-yet gentrified Geary, the light-poles were plastered with posters; something that has disappeared from Little Italy and Queen St. West. This concert was among those street ads. Online, the $25 price has morphed into $27.50 with a $10 fee. I thought I might avoid the price-gouging by buying at the door. No such luck as they simply fired up their tablet and charged me the same $37.40.

It felt more like a concert than the last few shows: people lining up early for merch, and an actual music sub-culture scene. Early on, whether goth or emo, there were numerous kids in elaborate black clothes with heavily-drawn white make-up. But the bulk turned out to be regular folks (although still mostly wearing black) and a surprisingly number of people over 40. Have these bands been around a long time?

The first opener, and my favourite for the night, was Modele. A four-piece that reminded me of Depeche Mode with their combination of synth, tight drumming, and punctuated by catchy riffs. The singer, who towered over his bandmates, sang dramatic lyrics (You Are My Sin, Pleasure For The Holy) in a deep register while his guitarist harmonized in a higher voice. They got my $55 for a tee and the album. Automelodie has been around for over 20 years under various monikers. I liked that the Euro synthpop was controlled with several samplers and pads instead of just a bunch of tracks on a MacBook. But there were two downsides: the French lyrics were lost on the Toronto crowd, and though he was quite energetic, Xavier Paradis seemed a bit awkward on-stage. During the set, I thought that a performer like Regina Gently could sell this music better.

Traitrs formed around 2015, yet as a testament to the diversity of Toronto's scenes, I have never encountered them until Friday. When the duo stepped on stage and the singer/guitarist lamented in the upper register, I immediately thought of The Cure. Over the course of several songs, they did stayed in that melancholic, thumpy vibe. I left about half-way through the set since I had an early bus to catch but also because they weren't as inventive (musically and in terms of stage-presence) as the openers.

Hen & Teeth

Things were looking better for work on Friday, but I still had to eat lunch at home due to an overly long meeting. In the afternoon, I headed over to see my dentist. Over the years, I have seen assistants but they never seemed to be there for more than a few months. Either he doesn't pay adequately or they were interns or on co-op/training. This one turned out to be a hygienist and after a quick glance at my mouth asked me how many times I brush and floss daily. I haven't gotten a cleaning from one since before the pandemic at my old dentist's office. On the one hand, they actually spent the full 45 minutes for the 3 scaling units instead of billing the same amount for 10 minutes. On the other hand, while they worked, I thought: I wasn't doing a good enough job at home; my dentist was more efficient from experience; or my dentist was less diligent than he should. Probably some combination of all three. Having been asked similar questions before, maybe I should snark that I only brush weekly since (apparently from the state of my teeth) they don't believe that I visit the dentist 4 times a year and brush/floss 4 times a day.

Usually after these visits, I drop by Pam's Roti. So despite the lunch kerfuffle 7 weeks ago, I went there for a chicken roti ($16.95). The roti was still good with an excellent chew and fragrance. There seemed to be less chicken though. The server with vision problems (but better since their operation) wasn't around. I thought of them because during the pub hang on Tuesday, I found out that several old and new co-workers also had issues that require eye surgery.

With more winter in the forecast, and a biting wind during my outings, I spent the evening looking for sublets once again but on craigslist instead of kijiji. I found an ad from the landlord/tenant of my first sublet but it was for the apartment downstair. Either they had changed apartment or the other long-time renters has moved out. But $2150 was more than my limit and with a move-in date of March 8 (or ASAP), it didn't align with my current sublet which lasts until the end of March.

Work/Life

The craziness at work continued on Monday though there was some (obstructed) light at the end of the tunnel. I wasn't happy that the hour I had set aside on Saturday to answer pleas from a coworker went to waste. After my reply, they had dashed off an untested solution full of errors. I heard they relied on AI but whether natural or digital, laziness ruled the day. So we were not ahead for the Tuesday deadline.

In the early evening, I caught a few last rays of sunshine and headed to my friend's restaurant. They were entertaining a guest so I exchanged some pleasantries and sat by myself with a veggie platter ($18). They asked about my family and I related that during my usual weekly talk with my mom, she had forgotten that it was Sunday. Getting a day mixed up was alright but not if it happened twice in an hour; my grandma didn't suffer this until her 90s. On their side, they were postponing their painkiller injection for physical therapy. Six sessions in, perhaps there was some improvement, but I saw that they were still limping when serving customers. On my way out, I replayed our brief chat and puzzled over some statement regarding the photos we took at our sushi lunch. I sure hope they weren't hinting at playing matchmaker, because with one foot already in the grave, I don't need any personal drama.

I was in the office on Tuesday because we had HR visitors from our new American owner. After months of research, they presented us with plans for merging our respective packages: primarily benefits and other perks. We were switching over to "unlimited" PTO, though unlike the U.S., there were minimum amounts required by law. Since this guaranteed less days than my old contract, I'm skeptical I will take even the same number of days as before, let alone see an increase. The health benefits and insurance were better than our plans and included reimbursement for gym memberships and internet services. The biggest add-on was RSP matching up to a combined 9%. Since I already had a financial advisor, I didn't love that I would have to contribute to funds managed by another company. But it is free money on the table.

Breakfast (bagels, croissants) and lunch (salad, deli sandwiches, wraps) were provided though there were lots of leftover. At 4:30, we went to a nearby pub, where we co-workers often had lunch outings before the pandemic. Over beer and bar food, we did a bit of social bonding. Some had visited Quebec for mountain biking and whale watching. Others were in Canada or Toronto for the first time. It was a nice enough get-together though we would likely never see each other again since there were few reasons for HR to visit an office of mostly remote workers.

Light Bearer

On Sunday, I went up to Geary not really to take part in the Art Crawl but just to see what's happening. Sure enough, there were local businesses and one-off vendors selling trinkets, thrifted clothes, art pieces, and street food. Some pedestrians were new visitors, who found that Geary was perhaps still too industrial, and were glad to step into Jen Agg's new it spot called General Public. The rest looked like young folks and families with babies who settled in the neighbourhood in the last 6-7 years. I didn't see too many OGs walking around.

The section of Geary west of Dufferin had a scruffier feel though galleries and bookstores have moved in. The location of Long Winter's concert venue was at Geary Factory Lofts, which were selling office workspaces and not residential units. During the pandemic, it was an empty building with ghost kitchen trailers in the back making Wendy's and other restaurant orders. It will have newer neighbours soon as the empty lot next to The Brick had construction signs.

But I was here for Morning Star, an old-time Portuguese restaurant I spotted during my pandemic morning runs. Stepping inside, this was a step down from Porto Nova. Yes, there was a dining room but everyone congregated in the room containing the TV showing soccer. If locals came to Porto for slightly upscale Portuguese food, here it was entirely (older) men who came for the pre-made takeout (usually pork, rice, and fries) or to drink coffee and watched sports. I've always wondered whether the guys at these spots were bachelors or married men.

I got a bitoque ($25) and some bottled water ($2). The steak and eggs reminded me of the Francesinha from Porto. The meat wasn't as good but it was much tastier and cheaper than Ottawa fare. The fries were pale and could use more time in the deep-fryer. I was surprised that the water came from Portugal; local spring water would have been fine. I actually just wanted tap water but there was a language barrier. Along with the complementary olives and bread, this was a filling lunch. Despite the price increase (the menu had new prices taped over the original values), $27 all in was decent for this type of meal.

Though I came home to relax, I went out again later on because the bright sunshine and mild weather was too nice. I made a 1 hour loop simply to print out some bus tickets at the library. Pedestrians, shoppers, and cruising cars were out in full force. With the snow gone from the backyard, I gingerly ascended some steep stairs up onto the roof of my sublet. My friend had built a simple wooden deck on top of the building. Although clearing out the dust would be a chore, this space would make for some enjoyable yoga practice.

Loop De Loop

The drama at work continued on Friday with the first deadline. But things looked promising as positive results came in over the chat channel. Most meetings became optional and I took the opportunity to duck out at lunch to do some groceries and grab a slice ($5.50) from 241 Pizza. The purchases weren't for myself but to restock some household items left by my friend. At the pizzeria, I found out from the long-time owner that they had to pay out of pocket for upgrade directives from corporate, sometimes at elevated prices like $4K for the new LCD menu displays. A window washer struck up a conversation with me. This was the sort of privileged old men I try to avoid. In his case, he was blocking the side-street with his truck and bragging about his American Pit Bull (a banned breed). When 5 pm rolled around, I left a co-worker on read while I ordered from South Pacific. I wasn't going to work extra hours for someone else's problems.

Saturday promised rain all afternoon so I headed to Dufferin Mall for more re-stocking. I went to Le's Sandwich on College St. but the owner no longer carried the vegetarian version of common Vietnamese dishes. I was reminded again of the passage of time when I was told that her daughter, who had just started university only "a few years ago" in my mind, was now a new mother with a remote job for an Ottawa company. The owner looked relatively spry with coloured hair. I wondered how I came across with my white mop (and lack of good sleep)? I ended up getting a veggie banh mi ($6) and a meat bao ($4). The first was eaten on a wooden bench at College and Dovercourt, site of many previous meals. The latter was re-heated at home once I got back. I finally looked at the chat messages and wrote back some obvious answers.

In 2021, with the ongoing gentrification of Geary, there was now an Art Crawl. This year, they also teamed up with Long Winter to host a concert. But the latter has lost much appeal for me, whether because I was getting old, or they have devolved into irrelevancy. Certainly the scope of their shows have diminished. I stayed home to watch a movie on Netflix instead. Unfortunately, I was bamboozled by an online review because War Machine was no different than any other army-approved Hollywood flick. This U.S. military glorification was not to my taste given the current situation in Iran.

Pizzacato

Thursday had more work craziness. Someone wanted to add last-minute changes to a spec. This might get push back from other teams. But once again, not my monkeys, not my circus. In the evening, I was heading again to Dina's Tavern for a show. It also meant I could get a Fresca pizza slice that I had planned for last Saturday. I don't normally mix dinner-and-a-show but what's life without some risk?

Fresca was the busiest I've seen despite the wet weather. People were waiting for pizzas or slices to-go while others ate inside the packed diner. The demographic spanned age ranges and ethnicities: a true diverse slice of Toronto if you will. There were uncooked pizzas laid out all along the counter-top, and even next to the sink, waiting for their turn because the oven was full. I counted the empty trays that held about 8-12 pizza dough per tray, and realized Fresca had made more than 150 pizzas in the last hour or so. I got a chance to talk to the owners. The wife lamented that despite their busyness, profit wasn't keeping pace. Maybe that was why I saw a sign stating that prices will increase soon. The husband just grunted and kept making pizza, even though his shift was over. The daughter, officially the new proprietor, was there tonight making sandwiches and pasta in the back kitchen. Some of the young workers who were relatives on a tourist visa will head back to Vietnam in April. I waited about 20 minutes for my fresh Margherita slice ($5) but the show wasn't scheduled until 8 pm. The wife side-eyed me when she heard about my plans. So I had to explain that I wasn't going to the notorious Comfort Zone (which has moved to Queen and Lansdowne) but rather the re-built Silver Dollar.

The show didn't actually start until 8:30 with Picastro. They (or the lead singer) have been around for 30 years but this incarnation was a duo. I enjoyed the double bassist with his various techniques: plucking, bowing, and even some looping through pedals. The singer supplemented with guitar, occasional samples, and synth on a few songs. But their singing was, in the words of a wise man, pitchy.

Merival bowed out of a concert a few years back so I haven't heard them since 2018. During their set, they admitted they don't play that often anymore nor have written (complete) songs in a while so there was only 1 "new" number tonight. I have found in the past that their music usually felt disjointed or incomplete because of the odd chords or progression. It was good tonight because Merival's guitar technique has improved tremendously. This added interesting dynamics and layers to the songs. Also, I felt that their strong voice with a nice range was also a new addition.

Most of the crowd, which varied in age if not in complexion, weren't there for either singers. I'm too frugal to hang-out at a bar that has a cover charge. But they were respectful during each set. I chatted briefly with 2 older men who knew the opening act. That's how I learned about Picastro's longevity and line-up changes. One was a sci-fi novelist while the other did abstract art but was getting back to his cartooning roots. They had memories of Silver Dollar and Comfort Zone that predated my arrival in Toronto.